


A Thousand Years to You

by clairvoyance



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Everything else is side stuff, Friends to Lovers, Jeanmarco is the main thing going on here, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-02 11:36:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clairvoyance/pseuds/clairvoyance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People always said never to fall in love with your best friend, but Jean had never been much of one to follow rules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because we could all do with more college AUs, right?
> 
> SO, a few notes before we begin.
> 
> \- Honestly I don't have any particular storyline planned out, it's all going to be written as I go (which might be a bad idea lol whatever)
> 
> \- This is based off of my own experiences in an American school system. The characters are not American, but it's easier for me to write based off of what I know. So yeah just pretend that they're whatever nationality you think they are. that's up to you. I'm just saying this now because I'll make references to American things, not a big deal if you don't know what they are
> 
> so yeah. I hope you'll like the story! the beginning's a bit slow but I'm trying to pace it even though mind is screaming at me gET TO THE JEANMARCOS ALREADY

The door opened just as Marco was straightening the sheets on his bed, and he hurriedly stood and turned around just as his new roommate walked through the door. "Hi!" Marco said cheerfully.

Jean -  _remember, it's 'zhahn' not 'jeen'_ , Marco quickly reminded himself - looked around the room and then at Marco with a vaguely surprised, very bored expression. "Oh. Hi."

"I'm, uh, I'm Marco. But I guess you already know that."

"Yeah." There was a pause as Jean lugged his suitcase in and looked around the room. "I'm Jean," he said, in a very  _ok-you-introduced-yourself-so-I-guess-I-have-to-too_  sort of way.

Marco fidgeted slightly, wondering if he was supposed to offer to shake hands or something. But Jean immediately turned away, ignoring him in favor of checking out his side of the room.

"So, long drive here?" Marco asked, trying to find something to talk about.

"Not too bad. A few hours." Jean wasn't much of a talker. But Marco had already guessed as much.

They'd both chosen the random roommate option, and a month before school started they'd been notified about who their assigned roommates were. They'd added each other on Facebook, but that had pretty much been the extent of their interaction - the few messages Marco had sent had been met with brief, uninterested replies.

So they were basically at square one. Of course Marco had thoroughly perused Jean's profile - who wouldn't? - but had learned very little about him. Jean was from Trost. He had a tattoo on his right arm. He didn't seem to be a keen Facebook user. That was pretty much all Marco knew.

"So, uh, what are you majoring in?" Marco asked as he turns back to his bed. He was pretty much done with arranging his sheets, but he didn't want to sit and stare at Jean as he unpacked.

"Undecided. You?"

"Biology. Probably pre-med."

Jean scoffed lightly. "Of course," he muttered under his breath.

Marco raised a brow. "What was that?" he asked, and now he was starting to feel irritated. What was this guy's  _problem?_

"Nothing." Jean gave a casual shrug and went back to unpacking, ignoring Marco's stare.

It was true that Jean wasn't a huge Facebook fan, but even he'd been curious about his new roommate. So the first thing he'd done after they added each other was go through Marco's profile.

Student council president, valedictorian, four-time All-State orchestra participant, captain of the swim team. He was good-looking, too. Christ. The guy had been a total fruitcake in high school. Probably had everyone from teachers to girls to stray puppies groveling at his feet. Probably had never thrown a punch in his life. Probably -

"Well, I'm heading down to the dining hall." Marco hesitated, still annoyed, but also very, very curious about this stranger named Jean. "And they're having some event for freshmen in the quad at five. Wanna come?"

\- probably overly-friendly. Jean considered most interactions beyond necessary ones as overly-friendly. "No," he said, not bothering to give a reason. It didn't matter anyway. Marco - like most people - would probably hate his guts by the end of the week, anyway. Why bother trying to delay the inevitable?

"You sure?"

Jean was caught a little off-guard. He knew his company wasn't the best, and most people didn't particularly want him around. So it was a little off-putting to hear Marco offering a second time.  _Overly friendly,_  Jean reminded himself. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Marco shrugged as he headed out the door. "Okay. See you later," he said as the door shut behind him.

"Finally," Jean muttered. He sat down on his bare bed and flopped backwards, closing his eyes. He'd been lying when he'd said that the drive hadn't been too bad. It had sucked, actually, having to get up so early and drive all the way from Trost. He was exhausted, and the warm sun pouring in from the window did feel really nice... maybe he'd take a nap. A quick one before Marco got back.

Five minutes later, Jean was out cold, and that was how Marco found him when he returned hours later.

* * *

"Jean?" Marco flicked on the light in the room and was surprised to see Jean lying on his bed. By the looks of it, he hadn't unpacked at all - hadn't even put sheets on his bed yet.

Jean groaned and rolled over, trying to shield his eyes from the light. "Turn it off."

"You haven't unpacked yet?"

"Fuck." Jean groaned again and slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Nine."

"I slept for five hours?"

"I... guess?" Marco said, going over to his own newly-made bed and sitting down. "Do you need help unpacking?"

"No. No, definitely not." Jean could feel Marco's eyes on him as he stood, still groggy with sleep.

"Okay." Marco felt like he was dealing with a suspicious wild animal. "Do you - do you wanna go check out Stohess tomorrow? I hear there's some really cool shops and stuff down there. A couple of guys on our floor are going too. Since there's not much to do before school starts."

"No thanks." Jean inwardly cringed. Couldn't Marco lay off with the friendliness?

"Suit yourself." Marco stripped off his shirt and began digging through his drawers, looking for an old T-shirt to wear as pajamas.

Jean glanced over at him and froze before quickly tearing his eyes away. Well, shit. Underneath the crisp shirt and jeans wasn't a softy like he'd imagined; thick cords of muscle ran through his shoulders and back.  _Fucking duh._   _He was captain of the swim team. What the hell were you thinking?_

"Are you gonna keep swimming in college?" Jean asked out loud without thinking. As soon as the words were out of his mouth he wished he could snatch them back.

Marco straightened and looked over, surprised at the sudden attempt at conversation. "I dunno. I haven't really thought about it. If I have time I definitely will."

Jean's face burned as he stared fiercely at his bed, struggling with his sheets.  _Great. Now he knows you've been stalking his Facebook._  Deciding that he'd exhausted his daily quota of socializing, he didn't respond.

And so it was that he missed the smile that crossed Marco's face.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey, Jean? Jean."

Jean gave a noncommittal grunt, furrowing his brow. What the fuck?

"Sorry for waking you, but you sure you don't wanna come to Stohess today? We're leaving soon."

What the  _fuck_. Marco woke him up for this? Jean rolled over, his back facing Marco's side of the room.

"I'll take that as a no," Marco said.

"Way too fucking early," Jean mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut against the brightness of the room.

"It's noon, Jean."

"Fuck that."

To his surprise he heard Marco laugh. "I'll see you later then, yeah?" Marco said, and Jean could hear him moving around the room. He rolled over and opened his eyes just a bit, peeking at Marco, who, unfortunately, noticed. "Changed your mind?" he asked.

"No way," Jean muttered, closing his eyes again and feeling heat creep into his cheeks.  _He probably thinks you're some creepy weirdo now._ _  
_

"Okay, okay. I'll stop asking. But you're coming with us next time."

"Not a chance." Jean rolled over, his back once again facing Marco. "Too friendly," he muttered.

Marco laughed again, and Jean's cheeks burned as he realized that Marco had heard him. He was irritated with himself. Why did he care if Marco heard him or not? Jean made it pretty clear to most people what he thought of them.

"Later, then." This time Jean heard the door open and close. He lay there for a moment, listening to make sure Marco had really left, and when all was quiet, he turned to look. Finally, peace and quiet.

Jean closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

* * *

"Do you do  _anything_  but sleep?"

"Fucking again?" Jean groaned. "Leave me alone and stop waking me up."

"I don't think that's healthy," Marco said. "Have you even eaten today?"

"None of your business."

"You haven't," Marco said. "Come eat dinner with us."

"What time is it?" Jean asked. Maybe it was later than he'd thought.

He heard Marco sigh. "It's seven, Jean."

"Wow."

"Are you impressed with yourself?"

"Actually, yeah."

Jean could practically feel Marco rolling his eyes. "Get up," Marco said, and to Jean's surprise he felt a hand pulling at his arm.

"Leave me the fuck alone," Jean growled. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? They'd known each other for like what, two days?

"No." Marco pulled harder, half-dragging Jean out of bed. Damn, he was strong.

"You're going to rip my arm out," Jean said, trying to kick at Marco. His foot landed squarely in Marco's stomach, and he felt a surge of vindictive pleasure at Marco's pained "oof!"

"Jeez. Just get up and have dinner with us. Is that too much to ask?" Marco said. He'd let go of Jean's arm and was rubbing his stomach, looking rueful.

Jean let out a loud sigh, staring up at the ceiling. Marco wasn't moving, just standing at his bed and staring, or possibly glaring, at him.  _"Fine,"_ Jean said. "Fine, I'll go have dinner with you."

"Good."

Jean chanced a glance at Marco and saw that he was grinning. That bastard. With another sigh he sat up, stretching. "Let me take a piss and then we'll go."

"Aren't you gonna change?"

Jean gave Marco an  _are-you-serious-I'm-already-doing-you-a-huge-favor-by-getting-out-of-bed_  look before grabbing his key and leaving the room. Marco followed, locking the door behind them. Jean hoped that Marco wasn't going to wait in the restroom while he peed.

"I'll wait for you outside," Marco said, sensing the impending awkward situation, and Jean nodded, more relieved than he'd like to admit.  _Thank god._

Five minutes later they were heading down to the dining hall. "Who are we eating with?" Jean asked, already regretting his decision and wondering if he should turn around.

"Just some guys from our floor. Maybe you know some of them already? Thomas is from Trost, I think."

"Not ringing any bells."

"There's also this really big guy named Reiner, and his roommate Bertholdt, and Eren and Armin - "

"Hold up." Jean stopped in his tracks. "Did you say  _Eren_?"

"Yeah." Marco stopped, giving Jean a quizzical look. "You know him?"

"Not Eren  _Jaeger?"_

Marco shrugged. "Dunno. He's from Shinganshina, though."

"Fuck no." Jean turned on his heel, but Marco grabbed the back of his shirt.

"Where are you going? What's wrong with Eren?"

"What's wrong with  _Eren_? He's an absolute prick, that's what's wrong with him."

"He seemed okay when I met him. Maybe a little weirdly intense, but nice."

"Nice?" Jean asked, squinting his eyes at Marco. "Eren is not  _nice_."

"Come on," Marco said firmly, grabbing Jean's arm. "It'll be fine." He began dragging Jean down the sidewalk, ignoring his outraged sputters. "How do you know him, anyway?"

"He moved to my high school in senior year," Jean said. "You ever heard of that crazy domestic terrorist group? They call themselves the Titans?"

"Oh, yeah." Marco shivered. They'd been responsible for hundreds of deaths and disappearances in Maria over the past years, since before he'd been born, and not a single one of them had ever been apprehended. No one knew where they'd come from or why they did what they did; it was a series of seemingly random killings, all done for apparently no reason. News outlets called them "pleasure killings."

"Yeah, well, Jaeger's hell-bent on shutting them down. His mom was killed by them, so now he thinks he's on some crazy revenge-justice quest." Jean knew he sounded callous but didn't care. "He's gonna get himself killed. What's one person going to do against all of them? I mean, a lot of us know what the Titans are capable of. A lot of us know people who have been killed." Jean kicked at the ground. "But we're not stupid enough to go chasing after them. Hell, even the government is useless against them. Eren thinks he can take them all on himself. He's arrogant and stupid and impractical, and when you call him out on it, he goes nuts."

"I, uh, I didn't know that."

Jean grunted and let Marco drag him into the dining hall, looking thoroughly disgruntled.

"Hey guys!" Marco waved and let go of Jean's arm as they approached a group that was taking up two tables. "This is Jean, my roommate." Jean eyed the group with apprehension and wasn't surprised to see Mikasa seated next to Eren. Of course she'd be here too.

"You're rooming with  _Kirschstein_?" Eren asked, nearly spitting out his drink. He glared at Jean, who shot him an equally nasty look. "Well, he can sit here only because he's your roommate."

"Fuck off Jaeger, you don't make the fucking rules," Jean snapped.

There was a brief moment of awkward silence before Marco hastily pulled out a chair. "Here, sit down," he said to Jean, taking a seat next to him. "Uh - Jean, this is Reiner, Bertholdt, Connie, uh - you already know Eren - and Armin. And..." he trailed off.

"Mikasa," Armin supplied. "We know each other from high school." Eren crossed his arms, glaring at Jean.

"Oh yeah, forgot you guys haven't met yet," Reiner said. "Bert and I also know Annie from high school. And she happens to be rooming with Mikasa."

"And I brought Sasha along," Connie added. "She'd never pass up a trip to the dining hall."

"Shut up," Sasha said through a mouthful of mashed potatoes and gravy.

"Don't talk while you're eating," Connie said, wrinkling his nose. "That's disgusting."

Marco introduced himself, grinning, and Jean abruptly stood up. "Getting something to eat," he muttered, because he actually  _was_  pretty hungry. And he didn't want to spend another moment near Eren.

"I'll come too!" Marco stood up and followed him.

"I'm leaving as soon as I'm done eating," Jean hissed to Marco as he took a plate.

"Why?" Marco asked. "Come on, besides Eren, you should be fine with everyone else."

Jean shook his head. "Marco, you know? I hate to break it to you," he said sarcastically, "but people in general don't like me."

"'Cause you don't give them the chance to, I bet," Marco said, scooping green beans onto his plate, and Jean opened his mouth to retort before closing it again. What could he say? It was true. But he only did it because it was just so much fucking easier.

They got their food and headed back to the group - "Actually you know what I'm gonna go sit over there - " "No you  _aren't,_  Jean, you're coming to sit with us" - a very reluctant Jean trailing behind Marco.

"So Jean, where're you from?" The big blonde dude - Reiner, wasn't it? - was asking him a question.

"Trost." Jean took a bite of chicken, not bothering to elaborate.

"Hey, my roommate's from Trost too! D'you know Thomas Wagner?" Connie asked.

Jean shrugged. "It's a big district."

"Thomas went to our high school," Eren said pointedly.

"Okay, it was a big high school."

To his surprise Marco started laughing. Jeez, what was this guy? "Do you get a kick out of everything I say?" Jean asked, a little too surprised to be annoyed.

"Almost everything," Marco said, grinning.

Jean didn't say anything, just shoved green beans into his mouth, trying not to return the grin. What the hell? Okay, maybe it felt good to know that someone thought he was funny. That didn't mean he had to  _smile_  at them.

He spent the rest of the meal mostly in silence, only occasionally joining the conversation when Marco nudged him in the side (why the hell was he responding to Marco, he didn't know) or when one of the others asked him a question.

Most of the time he sat and watched Marco and thought about how  _weird_  it was that he was already so comfortable with everyone. If Jean hadn't known any better, he'd have thought that Marco had known these people for years. And, surprisingly, Jean didn't feel as uncomfortable at the table as he thought he would - probably 'cause Marco was doing all the work and talking to everyone. Jean let his gaze flick to every face, observing.

Reiner... he was big. Too big. Scary big. Jean bet he weighed at least 200 pounds. But he seemed friendly, and the way he let his hand linger over Bertholdt's was surprisingly gentle... Jean flushed and tore his gaze away.  _Okay. I definitely didn't need to see that._

Bertholdt was tall, crazy tall, something Jean could tell even when he was sitting down. He seemed nervous, like he wasn't comfortable being in a large group of people -  _you and me same, dude,_  Jean thought - but he seemed to relax every time Reiner brushed his hand over his. Jean squinted.

He let his gaze fall to Annie. As soon as he looked at her, her eyes flicked up from her plate and met his, cool and calculating and actually kind of terrifying. Jean quickly looked away, swallowing, glad that no one had noticed.  _Christ, she's scary. Scarier than Mikasa, even._

At this, he finally let himself look at Mikasa, who was sitting quietly by Eren. Jean sighed. He was over her by now - mostly - but that didn't mean that he thought Eren deserved to even be friends with her. Actually, in Jean's opinion, Eren didn't even deserve to be friends with Armin. What Eren really deserved was a good punch to the face _because why is he looking at me with that stupid smirk on his face -_

"Hey." Marco placed a hand on Jean's arm, interrupting his thoughts. "You all right there?"

"What?"

"You looked kinda tense." Marco pried Jean's fork from his hand. "Maybe you should head back."

 _Yes, please,_  Jean thought, relieved at finally having an excuse to leave. "Fine with me. Seeya." The farewell had only been intended for Marco, but the rest of the table chimed in with their own good-byes. Jean cringed, feeling distinctly uncomfortable, and waved awkwardly before turning and leaving.

* * *

"Surprised you're not asleep already."

Jean looked up from his laptop, taking out an earphone as the door opened and shut behind Marco. "Back so soon?"

Marco shrugged. "There's only so much you can do while hanging out at the dining hall." He sat down on his bed and took off his shoes. "Anyway, it wasn't so bad, right?"

Jean shrugged, flicking his gaze back to his computer screen. "I guess," he said. Fine, it  _hadn't_  been as bad as he thought it'd be. Even with Eren there.

"Maybe even a little fun?" Marco chanced.

"Don't push it," Jean muttered, and he didn't miss the grin that crossed Marco's face.

"Okay, okay, I won't. You did good for a beginner, anyway."

"A  _beginner?_ " Jean asked, looking up from his computer screen to squint at Marco. "A beginner in what, exactly?"

"A beginner in making friends," Marco said casually, his face straight. Jean glared. A split second later Marco burst out laughing, falling backwards onto his bed. "You should see your face!" he said, clutching his stomach.

Jean  _'hmph-ed'_  and turned back to his laptop. "You're an ass," he muttered.

"Sorry," said Marco, not sounding very sorry at all. "It's just - you make the best faces. It's hilarious."

And for some reason Jean found that he wasn't really bothered by Marco's teasing. It was weird. Jean had never met anyone like him, someone who genuinely seemed like a nice person through and through. "You're weird," he said aloud without thinking.

"And you're not?" Marco said. He was still lying on his bed, looking up at the ceiling, and Jean looked over at him to see the grin still on his face.

"Wipe that stupid grin off your face."

That only made Marco laugh more. "Okay, okay."

"... You're still smiling."

Marco looked up then, craning his head to look at Jean from his position on his bed. "You know what, Jean?"

"What?"

"So are you."


	3. Chapter 3

Jean slunk into the lecture hall, taking a seat near the back. Biology wasn't really his thing. He dropped his backpack into the empty seat to his right and put on his grumpy face, hoping to deter any eager beavers looking to make friends on the first day. Lord knew he'd had enough of that with Marco.

"Hey! I didn't know you were in this class too!"

 _What the…_  Jean turned. It was Marco. Of course.

Jean sighed loudly as Marco took the empty seat to his left. "Do you have to sit with me?" Jean asked irritably.

"No, but I want to." Marco seemed impervious to Jean's annoyance. "This your first class of the day?"

"No. I had calc 2 before this." Jean placed his head in his hands and stared straight ahead, wishing Marco would go away. What was with this guy? Didn't he know when he wasn't wanted?

"Hey, Marco!"

Despite himself, Jean turned to look. Waving at them was a tall girl, her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Walking with her was a shorter blonde girl.

"Ymir, Christa! Didn't know you'd be in this class," Marco said cheerfully.

"All thanks to Christa," the girl named Ymir said. "Without her I'd never have gotten the credit in high school." She dropped into the seat next to Marco, the blonde girl taking the seat beside her. Jean groaned internally. Couldn't Marco lay off with the friends?

Ymir leaned around Marco to peer at Jean. "Who's this?"

Jean glared at her. After a beat of silence, Marco spoke. "This is Jean, my roommate. Jean, this is Ymir and Christa."

"Huh," Ymir said, eyeing Jean. "Looks like a real cranky sort of dude. Bad dye job too."

"Fuck off,  _Ymir_ ," Jean snapped. He liked his hair.

"Be nice, Ymir," the blonde girl – Christa – chided.

Ymir snorted and shot Jean one last glare. "Good thing I have Christa and not some grumpy old stranger. Speaking of which – how come you didn't room with anyone you know?"

Marco shrugged. "Wanted to meet someone new."

 _Yeah, well, you've got some shit luck_ , Jean thought,  _getting me as that "someone new."_ He placed his head down on his arms, closing his eyes and trying to shut out Ymir's voice. And that was how he remained for the rest of the lecture.

* * *

"Good grief. You're not asleep, are you?"

"What?" Jean groaned.  _Shit._

He heard Marco sigh. "You're lucky it's the first day, so we didn't do much."

Jean slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes. Class was over; students were filtering out of the lecture hall, chattering to each other. Automatically he turned to look around at Marco's other side.

"Ymir and Christa left already," Marco said, noticing Jean's glance. "Ymir was making fun of you for falling asleep the whole time. I didn't think you were  _actually_  asleep. I thought you were just ignoring her." Marco shook his head.

"She's annoying," Jean muttered, standing up and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "How the hell do you know her, anyway?" She didn't seem like the type who Marco would be friends with. Then again, Marco could probably be friends with anyone.

"She's from my high school. A lot of people think we're related, just 'cause we both have dark hair and freckles. Drives her nuts." Marco shrugged, grinning sheepishly. "But I guess she likes me enough to stick around."

"You guys don't look at thing alike." Somehow, Jean ended up walking alongside Marco from class.

"No?"

"No. She looks vicious."

"And I don't?"

"You couldn't scare a puppy if you tried," Jean snorted. It was true; Marco himself had what girls would call  _big brown puppy-dog eyes_. Jean retched internally at the thought.

"Ouch. I'm not vicious enough for you?"

"That's not necessarily a bad thing, you know." Jean stopped himself right there. He was getting  _way_  too borderline-complimentary.

They stepped outside, Jean squinting against the sudden brightness of the sunshine. He was busy trying to think of excuses to get away from Marco – their little walk-and-talk had gone on sufficiently long enough – when Marco spoke.

"Wanna join us for lunch?"

"No," was Jean's immediate and instinctual answer.

"Come on, why not? It'll be fun."

"Trust me, it won't."

"Dinner the other night wasn't so bad, was it? You said so yourself!"

"'Not so bad' definitely doesn't equal 'fun'," Jean said, rolling his eyes.

"What do you think is fun, anyway?" Marco asked curiously. They had stopped walking now and were standing under the shade of a tree whose branches hung over the sidewalk.

"None of your business."

"You are one tough nut to crack."

Jean shot Marco a look of disgust. "Don't say weird shit like that."

"Was it that weird?" Marco asked, falling into step beside Jean as Jean started walking again.

"Why the hell do people even talk to you?"

"You're talking with me right now, aren't you?"

"Yeah, 'cause you forced yourself into my personal bubble." Jean knew he sounded childish but didn't care. "Is it really that hard to tell that I  _kinda_  like being by myself?"

"No, but I think you'd like being around people if you gave them a chance. Like me." Marco gave him a winning smile. "Give me a chance."

Jean rolled his eyes. "You know, based on what's happened in these past two days, I honestly don't think I have a choice."

"I'll take what I can get," Marco said. "So, lunch?"

"I take it you'll bug me every day we have Bio?" Jean quickly counted in his head. Three days a week. That would be  _three days a week._

"Without a doubt," Marco said cheekily.

"Someone save me," Jean muttered under his breath.

* * *

In the end, Marco won. No matter how stubborn Jean was, Marco was even more so, and Jean was dragged to lunch with the rest of Marco's friends.

And then again after class on Wednesday, and then on Friday. And then again the week after that, and the week after that.

And Jean didn't want to admit it, but it had kind of become a  _thing._  A thing that he kind of – didn't mind.

It wasn't like he really actively talked with the others. He was just kind of  _there_. But sometimes Reiner would crack a joke and the whole table would bust up laughing, and Jean would let himself smile a little. And sometimes Connie would say something stupid and everyone would give him crap for it, and Jean would throw in a little snarky remark or two. And always, always Marco sat next to him and laughed at his stupid comments.

So yeah, maybe lunch with everyone really wasn't such a bad thing. Not that Jean would ever admit it, especially not to Marco.

Besides, Marco was still annoying and pushy and weirdly friendly, and also too  _perfect._  Everyone seemed to like him. With the exception of Jean. He only  _tolerated_  Marco.

Jean was lounging around on his bed on Saturday afternoon, earphones plugged in and music blasting at full volume. There was a tap on his shoulder, and he opened his eyes to meet Marco's displeased face. "What?" Jean asked irritably. Marco seemed to have a habit of interrupting his relaxation time.

"What is this?" Marco asked, shoving a sheaf of stapled papers into Jean's hands.

It was his Bio test. Which Marco should have known, given that he was in the exact same class as Jean. "My Bio test."

"And that?" Marco jabbed a finger at the red 58 scrawled across the top.

"My score," said Jean, looking Marco squarely in the eye.

"Are you failing the class?" Marco asked, exasperated.

"No!" said Jean, indignant. "I have a C."

Marco abruptly turned around and went to his desk, rummaging through the drawers until he pulled out a heavy textbook. Marching over to Jean, he plopped the book into his lap. "We have a test in three days. Let's start."

"Start  _what?_ " Jean asked, now feeling really annoyed.

"Studying."

"No fucking way!" Jean shoved the book off his lap and onto the floor.

"Jean Kirschstein, we're going to study and you are going to get an A on this test."

"Why do you care so fucking much?"

"Because I want you to do well."

Jean sputtered, momentarily speechless. "What are you, my  _mom?_ "

"No," said Marco very patiently, "I'm your friend."

"My – " Jean stopped and gaped at Marco. "You are not my  _friend."_

"Colleague, then," Marco said. He bent to pick up the book and pulled his chair over to sit beside Jean's bed. "Let's start with chapter eight."

Jean folded his arms, scowling. "You are the most annoying person on the planet."

"You'll thank me later," Marco said, ever cheerful, and Jean wanted to punch him in the face.

* * *

_I'm your friend._  Jean turned the words over in his head as he stared up at the dark ceiling. Did Marco really consider them friends? They'd known each other for a couple of months now, and sure, Jean found him slightly less intolerable than most other people. But that was bound to happen if they were roommates. Living together forced Jean to make room for another person in his life; it wasn't as if he'd had much of a choice.

But that didn't mean they were  _friends._

Jean had always been kind of a loner. It was just easier that way. No one to stab you in the back. No one to owe anything to. Friends came and went, so why bother?

Anyway, it wasn't his fault. He'd been kind of a sickly child, plagued by nightmares he couldn't really remember, always running off alone from the other children. He'd been  _afraid_. Of what, he didn't know. And the other kids thought he was weird, so they stayed away.

By high school, Jean had grown accustomed to being alone. Comfortable, even. Because this way was easier.

 _No one that you care about. No one that you might let down._ He rolled over and closed his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

"So…? How'd you do?" Marco was looking at him expectantly.

Jean grumbled under his breath and shoved his test into his backpack.

"Didn't catch that." Marco nudged him in the side, grinning.

"Eighty-eight," Jean muttered.

"Eighty-eight? You were supposed to get an A! I've failed!" Marco cried dramatically.

"Shut up, Marco."

"I suppose it's still a thirty-point improvement," Marco mused. "Not too shabby, considering."

"Are you done yet?" Jean said. On impulse he reached over to snatch Marco's test from him. "Ninety-six? Of course," he snorted, shoving it back into Marco's hands. "Fuckin' nerd."

Marco started laughing again. Jean wished he wouldn't. Everything he threw at the guy just rolled right off him. He was beginning to think that Marco didn't take anything he said seriously, which would explain a lot.

"Where's the gratitude?" Marco asked.

Jean huffed. "Thanks for making me study," he grumbled, making it clear that he was still annoyed.

Marco beamed as if Jean had just presented him with an award. "You're welcome."

* * *

"Hey."

Jean looked up, surprised. "Hey. Thought you were asleep in the room." It had been nearly midnight by the time Jean had come back from the library, and he'd stopped outside to take a smoke break. It wasn't something he did often—just when he felt things were getting a little overwhelming.

Marco gave him a tired smile. "Nope. Was studying with Armin."

Jean nodded, bringing his cigarette to his lips and inhaling.

"Mind if I have one?"

Surprised, Jean turned to Marco, accidentally puffing smoke into his face. Marco waved the smoke away, still with that same tired smile.

"You want a cig?" Jean asked.

"Yeah."

Was Marco trying to impress him or something? Jean shrugged, taking a cigarette from the box and handing it to Marco.

"Light?"

Wordlessly Jean handed his lighter to Marco. He expected it to take Marco a couple of tries when he brought it to the end of his cigarette, but with a deft flick of his thumb the cigarette was lit.

"Thanks," Marco said, inhaling deeply and handing the lighter back to Jean. Jean said nothing. There was no coughing or wheezing on Marco's part—meaning he'd probably done this before.  _Who would have guessed?_

"You… smoke?" Jean asked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

Marco smiled wryly at him. "Wouldn't have thought, huh? But no, not often. Just… occasionally, when I want to relax. Take a break from life, you know?"

Jean nodded. He knew better than most people.

They stood there in silence for a few minutes before Marco spoke again. "How are you, Jean?"

"What?"

"How are you?" Marco repeated.

"I… I'm fine," Jean said, confused.

Marco turned to him and looked him straight in the eye. "Are you? Or are you just putting on an act again?"

" _What?_ "

Marco flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette. "I know what kind of person you are. You think you're one of those people who thinks they don't need anyone else. But it gets lonely like that, doesn't it?"

"You don't know anything about me," Jean muttered irritably. He tossed his cigarette stub on the ground and smushed it with his toe. "What the hell are you even talking about? You're not my goddamn psychiatrist."

"You're right. I don't know a thing about you," Marco said. "Because you're so afraid to share."

"  _Afraid to_  – are you kidding me?" Jean asked, starting get angry. "I don't share because it's none of your fucking business. We've known each other for like what, only two months? So why –"

"Yeah, we've known each other for two months," Marco interrupted loudly, "and I still don't know a thing about you, my roommate. I've tried to get you to open up, I've tried to talk to you –"

"How many times do I have to say it? I don't  _want_  to fucking open up to anyone! No one's ever bothered listening anyway, so why do you fucking care so much?"

"Because I want to know you, Jean."

The words took Jean by surprise, and he froze mid-rant, his mouth wide open. "What?"

"I want to know who you are. You're a complete mystery to me. And I know it sounds crazy, but hey, I want to get to know you and be your friend. But you won't let me."

Jean heaved a sigh, anger suddenly drained and replaced with exhaustion. He had no idea why Marco, endlessly patient, had brought this up so suddenly, why a quiet smoke break had turned into this.

"You know what?" Marco tossed his own cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out. "Forget it. Sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. That was rude of me. You don't have to share anything with me if you don't want to."

The worst part was that Jean could tell that he meant it, that he was sorry for pushing Jean. Marco had started to turn away, and Jean almost let him go, telling himself that it was easier this way, it was better –

"Wait, Marco."

Marco turned back around.

"I – no, you're right. You're right. I've been – an ass." Jean was staring at the ground.

"I think that's more of a personality trait than anything else. But keep going."

"I – what? Hey!" Jean said, looking up now to see that Marco was grinning.

"Do you deny it?"

Jean frowned. "Fine. No. But that's beside the point." He heaved a sigh. "Look. I just… I like being alone."

"Do you like it, or do you do it for some other reason?"

Jean fidgeted. He wondered if Marco had guessed more than he was letting on. "Okay, fine. You really want to know it?" He paused, trying to work up to it, taking a deep breath. "When I was little… I'd get these horrible nightmares."

Marco was staring at him, probably wondering what this had to do with anything. Jean hurried to go on.

"I could never remember them. Just that they were awful. I'd wake up crying, or screaming, and my parents would ask me what was wrong and I never knew." Jean swallowed. "All I could remember… was this horrible feeling of guilt. Anxiety. Fear. And then… and then my dad died, and they got worse." Jean's hands were trembling, and he shoved them into his pockets to hide them.

"Jean," Marco said softly, "look, hey, you don't have to tell me this if you're not ready. You don't need to tell me this if you don't want to."

Jean shook his head. "I want to," he said quietly. "I want to tell someone."

Marco looked concerned now, and opened his mouth to say something, but Jean cut him off. He couldn't stop now that he'd started.

"I was always  _scared_. It was hard… after my dad died… that feeling of guilt. Like, why had I been so helpless? Why couldn't I have done anything to change it? The nightmares were terrible. I stayed away from other kids, and they stayed away from me. I was scared, like something bad would happen if I became friends with them, like whatever awful thing that happened in my dreams would come true. Everyone thought I was weird, and they would have thought I was weirder if I ever told them stuff like this." Jean was staring at the ground now. "It was stupid, you know?" he said quietly. "But the fear… infected my mind. I don't know why. I guess it made me kind of paranoid." He took a deep breath.

"That's not stupid at all," Marco said, but Jean shook his head.

"It's stupid! After my dad died, I couldn't pick myself back up. Other people deal with loss, they handle it – even Eren, he's found some way to channel his grief into some kind of purpose – but me, I'm over here with these stupid nightmares and too scared to do anything about them." Jean's hands were clenched into fists in his pockets. "That's why I don't really talk to anyone. I can't. I'm afraid something will happen – I don't know why, I just – it's easier to stay away, 'cause then you don't have anything to lose, you know?"

"Jean. Hey, Jean." Marco took a step closer to him. His voice was soft. "You don't have to be afraid. We're all here for you."

"But that's just the  _thing!_ " Jean said. "I don't – I don't want anyone to be there for me! I'm not a nice person, I'm not a good friend, I don't have anything to offer anyone –"

"Jean." Marco closed the gap between them and enveloped him in a hug, taking him completely by surprise. "You're a good person, okay?"

Jean leaned his chin on Marco's shoulder, shaking. He hadn't realized how the visions from his nightmares still affected him, how the fear preyed on his mind. He'd kept it shoved in the back of his head for too long. "How would you know?" he whispered.

"Because you have a good heart. Because you were only trying to protect yourself, not to hurt others."

Normally Jean would have scoffed at the idea of something so cheesy, but Marco was solid and steady and warm, and Jean clung to him. "Sorry for being a douche to you," Jean said quietly.

"Hey. It's okay. It's not your fault." Marco's hand came up to rub soothing circles on Jean's back, and Jean leaned into the embrace, so tired, so wanting to have someone else to rely on instead of just himself.

When Jean finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, but they were so close together that Marco caught them anyway. "Thank you, Marco."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm sorry about the long wait between updates. Finals were coming up, and then I kind of fucked around over break and didn't do much, and now school has started again, haha. But I was like, "Yeah, I should probably update this story now" so here it is.

“Greetings, my most favorite roommate!” The door opened and Marco stepped in, grinning from ear-to-ear. Instantly Jean was suspicious.

He glared at Marco and pulled an earphone out from his ear. “I’m your only roommate, stupid.” Part of him was relieved—he’d been afraid that after his little confession, Marco would treat him differently, maybe a little pityingly, maybe a little cautiously. But Marco was still the same old Marco. A little weird and overbearing, as usual.

“That’s why you’re my favorite!”

Jean stuck his earphone back in, returning to his laptop. “It’s Saturday evening, dude. Please let me have this time to myself.”

“I have a better idea,” Marco said. “We’re going to Stohess!”

“Funny, I don’t remember ever agreeing to that.”

“Well yeah, ‘cause we knew you weren’t gonna say yes. You don’t have much of a choice, really.”

“Who’s we? That goober Reiner?”

“Right on the money.”

Jean sighed loudly and didn’t move.

“Reiner said he would come in and drag you out of here if you didn’t get up,” Marco said casually.

“You would let him in?”

“To be honest, he could probably break down the door.”

Jean frowned. He briefly imagined being hauled up from his bed by Reiner – the dude could definitely pick him up, no problem – and gave an exasperated sigh. “I hate you. And him too. Tell him I hate him.”

“You can tell him yourself when we meet up with him.” Marco paused. “Dress nice,” he added after a moment.

“Dress _nice?_ ”

“Okay, nicer than you usually do.”

“What’s wrong with how I dress?” Jean asked, looking down at himself. It was true that he typically went through his day with old sweats and a hoodie, and fine, he usually ended up sleeping in them too, but that’s because they were _comfortable_.

“At least wear jeans instead of sweats,” Marco said, rolling his eyes. “Do you even own any jeans?”

“Sweats are comfy,” Jean said defensively, “and _yes,_ I have jeans.”

“Lemme guess. Skinny?”

Jean shot Marco a glare. “Sorry I don’t have a _passion for fashion_ like you,” he said, eyeing Marco’s button-down and loafers. “What, you want me to put on a sweater vest?”

“You could borrow one of mine,” Marco offered, his face straight.

Jean squinted at Marco, unable to tell if he was joking. “Thanks for the very generous offer, but I’ll pass.”

Marco grinned. “Your loss,” he said.

* * *

“Hey!” Reiner waved. “Glad you could make it!”

Jean scowled. “Did we have a choice?” He rubbed his eyes. “I hate you. Did you know that?”

“Come on, a little bonding time isn’t so bad. We’re meeting up with the others later! You can squeeze in the back with Annie, ‘cause I don’t feel like putting up the last row of seats.” He patted his car, a big black SUV, very fondly. “Need that trunk space, you know?”

Jean and Marco glanced at Annie, who was standing next to Bertholdt and looking very bored. “I’m not sitting in the middle,” she said flatly. Jean shivered.

“Me neither,” Jean said quickly. “Guess it’s up to you, buddy!” he said, patting Marco on the back.

“Thanks,” Marco said, shooting Jean a look.

“Oh, one more thing. I’ve got a surprise for you both!” Reiner sang, looking entirely too pleased with himself. He pulled his wallet out and took out two cards. “For you, and for you,” he said, handing one each to Jean and Marco.

Jean looked down at it. “What the –”

“Is this a fake ID?” Marco asked, sounding disbelieving.

“Yeah. Pretty good, aren’t they?”

“This is my yearbook picture from _high school,_ ” Jean said. “How the fuck did you get it?” His senior year self glared back at him, the background of the photo edited white.

“Sorry, bro. Can’t reveal trade secrets.”

“I look like a fucking dweeb in this picture.” Boys at Jean’s high school had to wear tuxedos for their senior photos. Bow ties and shit. “Don’t you think it’s kind of a dead giveaway that this is a fake ID with a fake photo?”

“Most places in Stohess don’t really care. This is just a precaution,” Reiner reassured.

Jean snatched Marco’s fake ID from his hand. “How come you don’t get some stupid yearbook photo for yours?”

“’Cause he actually has useable photos, dude,” Reiner said. “I just pulled one off of Facebook, did a little background editing, and _voilà._ Anyway, enough chit-chat and complaining, let’s go!”

Grumbling, Jean clambered into the car after Annie and Marco. “How long’s the drive?” he asked Reiner. _Please, please don’t let it be more than thirty minutes with this idiot or I’ll go nuts._

“Less than an hour.”

“An _hour?_ ”

“ _Less_ than an hour, I said,” Reiner corrected.

Jean closed his eyes.

* * *

“Hey. We’re here. Wake up.”

“Huh?”

“We’re here.”

Jean slowly opened his eyes, disoriented.  Then he realized exactly where he was and quickly sat up, flushing.

“Jeez, you really can fall asleep anywhere, can’t you?” Marco asked, laughing.

Jean grunted. Christ, he’d fallen asleep on Marco’s shoulder. _Marco’s shoulder._ How fucking embarrassing was that?

“Aw, don’t worry,” Reiner said, and in the rearview mirror Jean could see his eyes crinkling with a smile. “You looked pretty cute back there.”

“Shut up,” Jean muttered, wiping off the thin line of drool that’d made its way down his chin. God, he’d been _drooling,_ too. Marco probably thought he was disgusting.

“It’s okay,” Marco reassured him, as if reading his thoughts.

Face flaming, Jean opened the car door and hopped out, taking in the fresh air. Thank god. He glanced around. They were in the parking lot of a quaint little strip mall, shops and restaurants stretching down the street.

“Yo!” Reiner waved across the parking lot, where Eren, Mikasa, and Armin were getting out of a car. They waved back – at least, Armin did – and started towards them.

“Hey,” Armin greeted as they approached. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Late, as usual,” Reiner said. “Let’s go inside. They can join us later, ‘cause I’m starving!”

* * *

They had dinner in one of the little restaurants, Ymir and Christa having joined them a few minutes later, and then Connie and Sasha even later.

“All right, kiddos,” Reiner said when everyone was finished eating, “we’ll meet up at the Vortex later tonight. Go out and have fun now!” He and Bertholdt abruptly stood up, putting on their jackets. “Bye!” Reiner said, wiggling his fingers as they left.

“He’s so friggin’ sketch,” Jean muttered. He watched as Reiner and Bertholdt disappeared through the door. “And they took the car, too.” He sighed.

“Hey, walking’s not so bad. That’s the best way to enjoy Stohess, anyway,” Marco said cheerfully.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Jean said as they stepped outside. He looked up at the darkening sky. “Looks like it’s gonna rain.” Damn, he hadn’t even thought to bring a jacket.

The group stood outside of the restaurant, no one saying anything for a moment. Jean suddenly felt uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to hang out with them – not that they were unlikeable (with the exception of Eren) – but more like he wasn’t really sure he belonged.

“Well…” Marco began, as no one moved or said anything. “Um… I guess me and Jean will get going, then.”

Jean blinked. What?

“You don’t wanna hang with us?” Connie asked, pretending to look hurt.

“Definitely not,” Marco said, grinning. “Nah, it’s actually just ‘cause Jean hasn’t been here before, and I thought I’d show him around.” Jean remained silent, trying to work out the situation in his head.

“Fine with us,” Eren said. “Come on, guys.” The group started to head down the street. Annie turned and gave Jean and Marco one last lingering look before turning back.

“Marco?” Jean asked, when they were out of earshot.

“Yeah?”

“What are you… um, why did you –”

“I know you’re not comfortable with them yet,” Marco said patiently. “Being in big groups like that. Especially with weirdos like Connie and Sasha.”

Normally Jean would have at least cracked a smile at that, but now he just stared at Marco. “You – you… really didn’t have to do that,” he muttered, looking away.

“I didn’t. But I wanted to. We’re friends, right?” Marco asked, beaming.

Jean gave a one-shouldered shrug, staring at the ground. “I guess.”

“Well, that’s a big improvement from ‘no,’” Marco said cheerily. “Come on, there’s a lot of cool stuff in Stohess. And we’ve got a lot of time before we meet up with everyone.”

* * *

Somehow Jean found himself in a tiny little thrift store, its shelves crammed with items that looked like they hadn’t seen the light of day for many years. Marco, though, seemed to love it. “You never know what you might find,” he’d said to Jean before they’d walked in. He’d disappeared farther into the store almost immediately, eagerly perusing the shelves.

Jean picked up a dusty little Hello Kitty lamp and examined it before setting it back down. “Marco?” he called out.

“Polo!” came the answer, farther inside the little store, and Jean wanted to slap him.

“That’s not even funny,” he said grumpily when he found Marco standing in an aisle, holding what looked like an old guitar. “What’s that? Looks about a billion years old.”

“Isn’t it nice?” Marco said happily, plucking a string. “Yeah, it’s pretty old, but that’s the beauty of antiques, right?”

“Is it even playable?”

“Yeah!” Marco strummed the beginnings of a tune, one Jean didn’t recognize, but the notes sounded rather sour and unpleasant. “Okay,” Marco admitted, “it needs a bit of tuning, but it’s playable.”

“Huh.” Jean frowned. “So how many instruments do you play?”

“Just three. Guitar, piano, violin.”

Jean rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Maybe one of these days I could serenade you with my music. You know, sit down at a piano with some roses and candles –”

“Yeah, please don’t ever do that.” Despite himself, Jean couldn’t help but grin a little.

“Actually, I think I’m gonna get this guitar. Then I can serenade you right in our room.”

Jean's smile immediately turned into a frown. “You know what, I’m just gonna wait outside.”

* * *

 “Okay! Where to next?” Marco asked cheerfully, stepping outside to where Jean was waiting on the sidewalk.

Jean glanced down at the ratty guitar case in Marco’s hand. “That thing looks like it crawled out of its own grave.”

“Hey, don’t be such a party pooper,” Marco said. “It has character.”

“That’s some hipster bullshit right there,” Jean said, starting down the sidewalk. “Walk a little behind me. I don’t wanna be seen with some weirdo carrying around a piece of junk like that.”

Marco only laughed, keeping pace with Jean. “I’ll put it in Reiner’s car later.”

A low rumble of distant thunder interrupted them. Jean squinted up at the sky. Dark clouds were moving fast, sealing out the blue-gray sky. “What’d I say? Told you it was gonna rain.”

“We can wait it out. There’s this really neat little bakery just a little further down the street. They’re supposed to have really good coffee and sweets. I wanted to go last time, but we didn’t have enough time.”

“Uh… how far is it, exactly?” Jean asked, as the first fat rain drop plopped onto his face.

“Like a ten minute walk. Don’t worry, it won’t take long.”

The two set off down the street, but within minutes it became clear that the rain was going to turn into a downpour. Jean pushed his wet hair out of his face, hating the feeling of cold rain sliding down his neck and into his shirt.

“My poor guitar!” Marco said, raising his voice to be heard above the rain. A flash of lightning lit the sky, followed a few moments later by a clap of thunder.

“We’re getting drenched, and all you can think about is your damn guitar? That thing’s time on Earth is finished, anyway!” Jean shouted back. “Can we just go inside somewhere?”

“The bakery’s just up ahead! It’ll be worth it, I promise!” Marco said. Jean gave a frustrated sigh and broke into a jog, Marco following him. Jean’s shoes slapped the pavement with unpleasant squishing sounds, and he could feel the cold wetness seeping into his socks and between his toes. He was gonna _kill_ Marco.

“Right there!” Marco suddenly shouted. “See that little yellow sign? It’s that one.”

Jean sped up, nearly breaking into a sprint. He was cold, wet, and did not enjoy the rain in the slightest. Behind him he could hear Marco bumping along with his stupid guitar. He glanced up at the yellow sign, swinging in the wind, and saw the words _Sugar Mountain Bakery_ printed in bright red. _What kind of dumb name is that?_ he thought, before pulling open the door and stumbling inside.

Warm, sweet-smelling air wrapped around him like a soft blanket, and he stood there for a moment, shivering and dripping. Behind him, Marco patted him on the shoulder. “See? Wasn’t so bad.”

“Fuck you,” Jean muttered. “We’re both completely soaked. How is that not so bad?”

The bakery was bustling, but not crowded; there was an empty table by the window, and Jean went over to it. He sat down on the edge of his seat, cringing as he felt a gush of cold water oozing through the seat of his pants.

Marco took the seat across from him, still in a disgustingly good mood. “Hey, don’t look so grumpy. It’s just a bit of rain.” He set his ratty old guitar by his seat.

“Just a bit of rain?” Jean asked incredulously. “Marco, I am literally freezing my ass off here. There is water oozing _between_ my ass ch –”

“Okay, okay,” Marco said hastily, cutting him off. “Okay, sorry. I didn’t think the rain would pick up that fast. But hey, at least we’re here, right? We can warm up and dry off until it’s time to meet the others. Here,” Marco said, picking up a menu, “pick something. I’ll pay.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jean muttered, suddenly embarrassed.

“Take it as my apology.”

Jean shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said grudgingly. “Just – let’s make sure it doesn’t happen next time.” He didn’t realize what he’d said until after he’d said it – _next_ _time_?

“Okay, it won’t. I promise!” Marco said happily, and Jean knew that the fact that he’d mentioned a next time hadn’t been lost on him. Jean wanted to take back his words, but Marco looked so damned _happy_. Jean wished he wouldn’t.

He picked up his menu instead, his eyes boring holes into it without really reading anything. This wasn’t _fair._ Goddamn Marco. Why’d he have to make it so damn hard for Jean to be a little meaner to him?

Suddenly he was aware that Marco was talking, and he looked up, but Marco wasn’t talking to him. A waitress had somehow managed to sidle up to their table without Jean noticing, and she was talking to Marco now, her cherry-red lips curved up in a smile.

 “—sure you don’t need anything?” She was blushing, and it took Jean a moment to realize that she was _flirting_ with Marco.

It shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did, Jean supposed. Marco _was_ good-looking, and the rain had turned his white button-down as good as transparent, and it wasn’t like his years on the swim team hadn’t paid off –

Jean abruptly stopped his thoughts, crumpled them up into a little ball, and disposed of them into his mental trash bin.

Marco pushed his wet hair back from his face with a deft flick of his hand, and if it had been anyone else then Jean would have thought that he was flirting back. But this was _Marco_ , and the way he grinned up at the waitress was completely innocent and without intent.

“We’re good right now, thanks,” Marco said. “Still looking at the menu.”

“Okay,” the waitress said, still blushing. She glanced quickly at Jean, gave him a strange look, then hurried off.

Jean rolled his eyes. He knew what that look meant.

“What are you gonna get?” Marco asked, interrupting his thoughts. “This stuff all looks really good, doesn’t it?”

“I dunno, I’ll just get a coffee. Um…” Jean glanced at the menu. “I guess I’ll get a… _caffè_ _marocchino_ , whatever the hell that is.”

Marco nodded. “Yeah, I’ll just ask her to surprise me or something. Get me whatever’s good.” He put his menu down and glanced around the bakery. “Kinda wanna try some of their pastries, though…” He stopped. “That waitress we had is kinda weird. Keeps looking at you, Jean.”

“At me?” Jean asked, only half-surprised.

“Yeah. Maybe she likes you!”

Was this guy an idiot? Jean snorted. “She’s trying to figure out if we’re a couple or not, and if she can make her move on you.”

“Oh.” Marco looked slightly put out, which Jean thought was a little weird but also a little amusing. “Darn, I was getting excited for you.”

“Do you not know how to read people at all?” Jean asked. “Wasn’t it kinda obvious that she was flirting with you?”

“Um.” Marco looked embarrassed. “I thought she was just being nice.”

Jean almost started laughing. Was this guy for _real?_ “I thought you’d be better at reading people, given how you’re so _social_ and all. Come on, most people aren’t like you, being nice just for the sake of being nice.”

“Okay, okay,” Marco said, holding up his hands, “I guess I’m not as good as understanding people as you are, Mr. _Jean Kirschstein._ ”

“You’re surprisingly naïve, actually.”

“ _Me?_ Naïve?”

“Like a child,” Jean confirmed.

The waitress was approaching them again, having noticed that they’d put down their menus. “Ready to make your orders?” she asked, her pen poised above her notepad.

“I’ll take an… um, caffè marocchino,” Jean said, pointing to the menu.

“And for you?” the waitress said to Marco, sounding just a little too eager. Marco smiled, a little uncomfortable.

“Uh, surprise me. Give me whatever you think’s the best.”

 _Too much,_ Jean thought, as the waitress blushed a deep red. He had to choke back a laugh as Marco scratched his head nervously.

“Of course!” the waitress – Sheila, her nametag read – exclaimed. “Whatever’s best.” She scurried away, dark hair flying.

Jean shook his head. “That was a bad idea. She’s gonna give you some cheesy latte with a heart in it, I bet,” he said.

“No, she won’t. That’s weird,” Marco protested.

Jean just raised an eyebrow and gave him a ‘you-just-watch’ look. “Bet you five bucks she will.”

“Deal.”

They fell silent. Jean stared out the window, following the water droplets sliding down the glass with his eyes. He didn’t really like the rain. It made everything soggy and wet and gross. Like his shirt. Or his shoes. Or his underwear.

“Haven’t you had a girlfriend?” he asked suddenly, the question coming out of nowhere. Maybe he was being a bit blunt, a bit too forward, but that was Jean. Besides, he was curious. For a guy who could charm the pants off of girls, Marco didn’t seem to be particularly experienced.

“Yeah. Just one. It… didn’t really work out.” Marco shrugged. “She wasn’t the _one,_ you know?”

Jean squinted at Marco disbelievingly. “Don’t start spewing some corny love shit at me.”

Marco laughed. “Okay, okay, I won’t. But… you know. I haven’t found the person who I really… think I could be with. Whether it’s a guy or girl.”

That caught Jean off guard. “You’re bi?”

“I guess?” Marco shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I am. Not that it matters to you, right?”

“I mean…” Now it was Jean’s turn to shrug. “I’m not… straight, either.” He suddenly felt uncomfortable under Marco’s scrutinizing gaze. “I’m just… attracted to who I’m attracted to.” He cleared his throat and was relieved when Sheila appeared out of nowhere, tray balanced on her hand.

“For you,” she said, setting Jean’s marocchino in front of him. Jean had to admit that it _did_ look pretty good. He watched as the waitress, cheeks pink, set Marco’s cup in front of him.

Marco stared at it, then looked at Jean, looking almost accusing. Jean coughed to cover his laugh. Sure enough, the waitress had set down a latte with heart drawn in milk on the surface in front of Marco.

“I hope you like it!” Sheila said breathlessly, before turning and retreating. When she was gone Jean started to laugh.

“Oh, man, that was gold,” he said. “The look on your _face_ –”

“I’ve never seen you in such a good mood,” Marco said, rolling his eyes. “Is being right that rare of an occasion for you?”

Jean’s mouth nearly fell open. What was this, was Marco _sassing_ him? Perfect, innocent Marco?

But Marco was grinning, and he pulled out his wallet. “Guess I owe you five bucks.”

“Yeah!” Jean said, taking the bill from Marco and shoving it into his own wallet. “That’s how we do it!”

Marco shook his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

They grew quiet as they sipped their drinks. Jean’s marocchino _was_ quite good, and okay, maybe it wasn’t so bad after all, sitting in the cozy little bakery drinking hot coffee.

“The rain stopped,” he said suddenly. Outside, the evening was growing darker; street lamps had flickered on, lighting the sidewalks.

“That’s good,” Marco said, finishing his latte. “What time were we supposed to meet up with the others, again?”

“I don’t think Reiner mentioned a time.”

Marco pulled out his phone. “Of course he didn’t. I’ll text him, since I need to put my guitar away anyway.”

While Marco was texting Reiner, Jean raised his hand to get Sheila’s attention. She hurried over. “Finished?” she asked, picking up Jean and Marco’s cups. Jean saw her eyes flick to the screen of Marco’s phone.

“Yep,” Jean said.

“I’ll bring out the check in a moment.” Sheila left, glancing at Marco one more time, who hadn’t said a word during this time.

“That was pretty cold,” Jean said. “Ignoring her like that.” He smirked.

Marco looked up, putting his phone away, actually looking guilty. “I know, and I feel kind of bad, but… I don’t want her to get any ideas.”

“Too late,” Jean said, rolling his eyes. “I don’t think you really understand the way you present yourself to other people, you know?”

“I suppose not,” Marco said thoughtfully. “You know, I never would have thought it, but you actually understand people pretty well.”

Jean shrugged, staring at the table now. “I’ve had a long time to just sit back and observe,” he said quietly.

Sheila reappeared by their table’s side. “Here you go. I’ll be back in a moment!”

Flipping open the check book, Jean was amused to see that she’d separated the checks without asking. “Yeah, so she’s going with the assumption that we are, in fact, not a couple.” He snickered. “Bet you another five bucks that she’s gonna give you her number.”

“No deal,” Marco said flatly. “Here,” he said, handing Jean his credit card.

Jean tucked both his and Marco’s credit cards into the check book, and Sheila came over to collect it. “Sure you don’t wanna take my bet?” Jean wheedled as she left.

“Surer than sure.”

“Ah, fine.” Jean sat back and folded his arms. His clothes were still rather unpleasantly damp, but he could deal with it.

When Sheila brought back the check book with their credit cards, Jean couldn’t hold back his grin as she handed it directly to Marco. “Here you go! Thank you for coming! We’d love to see you again!”

Marco nodded, giving her a brief but not unfriendly smile, and slowly opened the check book.

“Well?” Jean asked. Sheila had retreated to the bakery counter, and from the corner of his eye Jean could see her watching them.

Marco heaved a sigh. “Glad I didn’t take your damn bet.” He took the scrap of paper with a number scrawled on it and shoved it into his pocket.

Jean started laughing again. “Damn.”

“Don’t make eye contact with her,” Marco muttered as he handed Jean his credit card. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He stood, grabbed his guitar, and walked hurriedly to the door.

Marco’s cell phone beeped as the two of them stepped outside, and he pulled it out to check the message. “Reiner says we can go meet him now.”

“Okay,” Jean said, shoving his hands into his pockets. It was fully dark by now, but a good number of people had come back out onto the streets after the rain. Jean stared into brightly lit shops as they walked by, then grimaced as he caught sight of his reflection in a store window. He reached up, trying to arrange his damp hair the way he liked it, but all he did was get it to stick up in odd places.

“What are you up to, beauty queen?” Marco asked slyly.

Jean quickly dropped his hand. “The rain messed up my hair, okay?” he said petulantly.

“It looks fine,” Marco said, and before Jean could stop him, he reached up and tousled Jean’s hair. “There. It’s perfect.”

“You messed it up even more!” Jean protested. He sighed loudly. “I’m gonna mess up yours too, then.” He reached up, but Marco dodged his hand, ducking beneath it. “Hey!” Jean said.

“Back off!” Marco said, holding his guitar case between himself and Jean.

“That’s not fair. You messed up mine!”

“Life isn’t fair,” Marco said, sticking his tongue out at Jean, and then Jean was laughing, cause what was this guy, _five?_

“You suck,” Jean said, still trying to reach for Marco’s hair, and now Marco was laughing too as he dodged Jean again, keeping Jean at bay with his guitar.

“Better stop before I whack you with this,” Marco warned.

“You wouldn’t want to damage your guitar, would you?”

“True. I know how thick-skulled you are,” Marco said thoughtfully.

“Damn you.” Jean lunged and was met squarely in the stomach by the end of Marco’s guitar case. “Shit!” he wheezed, doubling over and clutching his stomach.

Marco was bent over now, too, but not from pain; he was laughing so hard he couldn’t stand straight. “I’m so – so sorry,” he managed. “I didn’t – I mean, _you_ launched yourself right onto it – I didn’t even have to do anything –”

“Fuck you,” Jean said, giving Marco the finger. Then, catching Marco by surprise, he quickly reached over and rumpled his hair, leaving him looking thoroughly disheveled. “There. My plan all along!”

“Why do I find that hard to believe?” Marco asked, and now he was running his hands through his hair, trying to smooth it out.

“Don’t know why you would, ‘cause I’m –”

“Hey! Jean! Marco!”

Jean was abruptly cut off by the booming sound of Reiner’s voice. Both Jean and Marco turned. In the light of the street lamps, Jean could make out the unmistakable stocky figure of Reiner, accompanied by a taller figure that was no doubt Bertholdt.

“We came to find you ‘cause you were taking a while,” Reiner said as they approached. “That your guitar?” he asked, nodding towards the case in Marco’s hand.

“Yeah.”

“Looks pretty cool. Come on, everyone else is waiting.” He and Bertholdt started back down the street, Jean and Marco trailing after them, suddenly very quiet.

Jean’s eyes lingered on the way Reiner and Bertholdt’s shoulders brushed against each other as they walked, the way Bertholdt murmured something to Reiner that made him laugh. He blinked and shook his head, feeling as if he were intruding on a private moment, and glanced at Marco. Of course the guy was completely oblivious, strolling along cheerfully.

Jean returned to his thoughts, feeling a little restless and unnerved. The appearance of Reiner and Bertholdt had sort of slapped him back to reality, and he felt his face burn as he thought about the exchange he’d had with Marco. He’d been so open with anyone before, had never played around like that with anyone. He’d completely let his defenses down, and it was unnerving how easily he’d done so in front of Marco.

“Jean? You okay?” A hand touched his shoulder. Jean shook it off.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, not wanting to make eye contact with Marco. “Just thinking about some stuff.”

Marco nodded, then let out a long sigh. Jean glanced over to see that he was staring up at the pitch-black sky. “Yeah. Me too.”


End file.
